I Promised, Didn't I?
by moccavin
Summary: Cherry Valance visits a grave she swore she never would. Not after what happened. It would have been too much. One-shot I'm new to fanfiction, but new doesn't mean inexperienced. This isn't my first Outsiders fic and love it or hate it, please leave reviews or like and there will be lots more to come (:


I Promised, Didn't I?

Cherry POV

It wasn't wrong to be here, was it? A million excuses for hesitation flooded my mind. It just all felt so... unusual. I never should have been involved with these people in the first place. But I wasn't really involved... was I? Of course not. I'm not a greaser, so I was only mixed into this on Bob's side. However, I did testify to help Ponyboy... I suppose I shouldn't have been a double agent in the first place...

Besides, this guy had nothing to do with Bob. There was no harm in seeing him, was there? I just felt I had to- and at the same time it felt so wrong.

I told Ponyboy earlier that I wouldn't go to the cemetery, because it wouldn't have been right to face the grave of the boy who killed Bob. It was a contradiction in itself, because I admitted before a whole court that it was Bob and his friends' fault for drinking in excess. I just felt that I couldn't look at Johnny, even though he died a hero. It seemed that he wasn't the same sweet, lost stray looking, boy I had met that night we saw Beach Blitz at the Nightly Double. It seemed to me that he was rather a cold murderer. Bob HAD died at his hand, but would it have been better it Ponyboy had died at Bob's? Would it have been better if Ponyboy had died when Bob tried to kill him? I keep asking myself that question.

Would it have been better if Ponyboy had died, and Bob had lived? If Bob had lived, then so would Johnny and Dallas Winston.

Would Bob have gone to jail, or would he have gotten off? Was it wrong for me to feel sorrow over the death of a grease?

So here I am, standing in the cold November wind and searching for the tombstone of a greaser.

The catch here was that I wasn't being disloyal to Bob by searching for his killer, but rather, disloyal in a different way. I was looking for the tombstone of Dallas Winston.

My hair- the red hair that drew so many alike in- whipped across my face, as the wind intensified.

I found his name among so many others on cold slate-colored stones with the dates November 9th 1948-October 14th 1966. This year. I kneeled down and traced his name across it with my index finger. I feel the small-engraved letters sting my gloveless hands with their ridges.

I knew his name for a good while before I actually encountered him. He was always "that Dallas Winston". "That Dallas Winston, the reckless hood." "That Dallas Winston, the one who robbed a grocery story", "that Dallas Winston carries around a gun, ya know". He was the Dallas Winston that was always jailed up. There was no Dallas better known than he, except for the very part of Texas.

I was emptying all my thoughts into that Dallas Winston, hoping that he could somehow be able to hear them.

I'm not sure if he remembered-but I sure did- that we were in the same eighth grade class right after he came from New York. At least that was where they said he was from. The way we all gossiped in middle school- and still did. He was born in Tulsa alright, he just resided up in the rough parts of New York for a while. I always wanted to go there, New York, I mean, but never let anyone know. The only time I've been out of Tulsa was to visit my Aunt Carol in Westwood, California, and it's not even the sunny part with the sand and the beach. It all seems so thrilling in the big city. The crowds, yellow taxis, the movie stars, Fifth Avenue shopping... it would have been a real experience. I'm sure Dallas wouldn't have done anything like that but all the same came from those parts.

He might not have even noticed my presence in eighth grade, since he spent most of it ditching. But I sure remembered. I sure did. How he looked when he walked into Mrs. Walker's homeroom on the first day. All tough, and rugged-looking. His hair dark and short and wild, not slicked down like the rest of the boys or curly, like Bob's, then known as Bobby. The gleaming leather jacket adorning him with a tear on the left sleeve. His jaw firm and set and a scar across the side of the smooth-looking skin on his cheekbone. Outside of school, there would more often than not be a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a pack of Camels accessorizing the look. At fourteen, he looked like he'd sailed across hell (excuse my language, I don't usually cuss) and came back a part of it. He was exiting. Rebellious. Dreamy. Different from all the other greasers I'd seen. He wasn't a coward and he didn't die in vain, I could tell you that. All this came off during a first glance.

As sly as the devil himself, he took a seat, kicking his weathered leather boots onto the back of my chair. I remembered the scolding he'd received from Mrs. Walker and the gruff way he'd drawled his seldom presence when she took attendance. He was kicking the back of my chair for the rest of the year. And by the rest the year, I meant the rest of the days he'd actually shown up. He had a rep for having a blade, and a mile long record at the police station. No one saw him around much, come high school. It was a wonder that he passed the eighth grade with his poor grades, poor behavior, and frequent absences. I wondered if his charming had its effect on the teachers. Like it did on me.

From the beginning, he had a hold on me. A tight emotional string that grew into a rope. We were held together by... Nothing. Nothing if you thought about it. We had absolutely nothing in common, except for the fact that we were both human, of course. Sometimes, from the cold looks I'd see in his eyes (more recently) I would doubt even his being human. I always knew deep down that he definitely was human. Behind that dirty mouth and cold eyes, I know he had a soul, not a core of steel. He wasn't made of metal, like his eyes suggested. He had feelings. He knew hurt like a best friend. I knew he had feelings- if he didn't, he wouldn't have been in this grave in the first place.

I wondered if it was a mistake to tell Pony that if I saw Dallas again, that I would fall in love with him. I have to admit that it was partly a lie. You would be able to tell from the tone of my voice and the fact that I _knew_ I would fall in love with him. I only knew because I was already in love with him. Go ahead and laugh, Dallas Winston. I, Cherry Valance, the Soc cheerleader, fell in love with a hood. A hood I bluntly rejected when he tried to hit on me. I guess I only did so because I didn't want him to call my bluff, not to mention he humiliation it would have caused me. It just wasn't the right thing to do. At the moment, I knew I could trust Pony, though I'd just met him. And I knew that even if Dallas knew, he wouldn't care less.

Another thing nobody knows is that the night at the Nightly Double drive-in, I didn't mean what I said. I didn't mean it at all.

I told him to get lost.

God knows I didn't want him to get lost. I wanted him to be found. He was already lost and that's why he was the way he was. Something or somebody had hurt him- emotionally. Stomped on his soul until his only choice was to get tough. By being as tough as nails, he thought he would never be hurt again. You were wrong, Dallas. You only hurt yourself by becoming that way.

I wanted to open up to him, to be nice and see if I could change him. I wanted to impact him so badly, but I knew that I couldn't. It just couldn't be done. Me? Cherry Valance, the popular cheerleader? Help a grease? It would have been a joke. Not to mention the consequences with Bob and all my friends. They'd think I was a traitor. I didn't want to hurt Bob either- Dallas had a reputation with girls as well. Despite his drunk episodes, Bob was a good guy. Really nice, made good grades, he was a good boyfriend, he never hurt me or pressured me... but as much as I hate to say it, I don't think I was in love with him.

The good Lord knows that Dallas needed someone to soften him down. He couldn't stay frozen forever. He needed someone to care about him and care whether he rotted in jail or not. I thought these thoughts after I shooed him away.

Did he ever get any visitors in jail? Did his girlfriend, the skimpy looking one, cry, when he got arrested? Was anybody worried about him? I think the answer to these questions were no. Even his gang, his only family, neglected to visit him because he figured that as the tough guy he was, he didn't need visitors. They thought that his skin was a skin of steel, not letting any emotions in. No visitors.

_I'll visit him one day_, I mused, _I'll surprise him_. But it was just a thought then. A thought that I'd thought that I'd forget about. It was just a silly suggestion.

Little did I know that after that night, it wasn't the last I had to deal with him. No, it wasn't. We came in contact with each other more than I thought we would for the rest of our lives. It was after Bob's death and Pony and Johnny's disappearance. It was when I had agreed to be a spy for the greasers. A two-faced double agent. I couldn't help facing that Dallas was one of the reasons I agreed. I wanted to get close to him.

As you could imagine, I had to talk to him. At one point I warned him for a stunt that he pulled that he could get arrested.

"You're actin' like I've never been in the slammer before! I've been plenty of times, and does it look like I care? Nobody cares!"

"But why are you going to litter your rep even more?" I asked him.

"Boy, Socs _are _stupider than I thought! You kidding? This is my rep! Who cares if I get hauled in again?" he said.

_I do. And I'll visit you_, I thought. _I promise. One day, I'll visit you._

I never got to. He never got to jail.

In reality, I didn't say any of that. I wish I had the guts to. I wish I had the guts to talk to him before Bob died. I just rolled my eyes and walked away.

_I promise, I'll come see you,_ I pledged, and it was no longer a silly suggestion at the corner of my brain_._ And that was the last time I saw him.

So here I was, a Soc, standing in front of _the _Dallas Winston's grave. My friends would have stood there gaped mouthed, same as the greasers. I didn't care, of course. The only person who would understand why I was here and what I was doing would be Ponyboy Curtis.

I don't know what it was with that boy, but we just connected. Like magnets. We understood each other. I wondered: would he visit Bob's grave? No, that's a stupid question. I wouldn't for a second blame him if he didn't. Bob had tried to drown him. It's like the way I won't visit Johnny.

Pony once told me that it helped him loosen up when he visits his parents' graves and just talks to then as if they were standing right in front of him. He told that he knew they were somewhere out there listening and it made him feel better. When I decided to come see Dallas, I also decided I would talk to him.

"Alright, here it goes..." I whispered.

"Dallas, or I hear they call you Dally, so, Dally," I began making my voice louder, "It looks like you got your wish from that night at the theater. I came crawling over to you. Your dirty talking didn't do the trick. It was just you. I said that I would visit you in jail sometime, but I never got to. I wanted to come talk to you, even though it's posthumous. I knew that deep down, you had a heart of gold, not a heart of stone, like your attitude claimed. I always admired you, you know? The way you always kept your cool and you always got your way. But why, why did you decide to let those cops take your life? You shouldn't have given up. I always wanted to help you, but I guess I wasn't fast enough. It's one of my biggest regrets, if not the biggest, but really, there's not much I've done that I've regretted. I always play it safe. I may seem like I'm trying to play Jesus, helping people and all, but I'm not. I wanted to save you- I could have saved you. You're just so stubborn. So, I came to see you. I guess I just wanted to let you know how I feel. I hope you're hearing this, Dallas Winston, because I have something important to tell you. Even if you thought that nobody cared- that you weren't loved- I want you to know that you were. I loved you Dallas. Even though I didn't know you. I just didn't love it when you were smothering me at the drive-in. I knew that deep down you had feelings, and I knew that you loved Johnny. I knew he was the only one. So, goodbye, Dallas."

I took a deep breath and turned to walk away. That went considerately well. Pony was right, I did feel better. I got scared as I turned around to face a pair of pretty green-grey eyes and a handsome face. The only thing wrong with this profile was the two-toned hair. Ponyboy. He may have been only fourteen, but he was getting to be a real looker.

He didn't say anything, but gave me a small smile. I wondered how much of that he had heard. It seemed he was standing behind me for quite a while.

So he came up to me and we walked away together. He held my cold hand in his, for a little while. I let him. He stopped and placed a book on Johnny's grave, which was across from Dallas's. _Gone With The Wind_. Strange. I didn't know any boys who'd read that. It was one of my favorites. I didn't ask, since he didn't tell. He kneeled there for a second and whispered something about staying gold. This boy was so unusual, but that's what it was about him that was appealing. He was also very sweet, so what he did must have had some sort of sentimental meaning. The world needed more boys like Ponyboy. If only Dallas had that quality. Even with Bob, I got the sense that he didn't want to show his feelings. Boys were odd that way. Feeling out of place there, I wanted to say something to Johnny, too. I said it in my head, not wanting to do it aloud in front of Pony.

_Johnny, even though you killed Bob, I have to tell you that you were a hero. I said I would never visit you, but here I am. I also never thought I'd be talking to Dallas Winston's grave. Johnny I knew you even less than I knew Dally, but you were a nice kid. A nice kid in a bad situation at home, Pony told me. I want to wish you well, even though I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you for Bob. I hope that wherever you and Dally are now, you're in a happy place._

And then I wandered off to Dally's grave again. While Pony had a moment of silence with Johnny, I walked back to my original spot and had one with Dallas.

_I never thought I'd see the day that we would be standing side by side, with no one including myself looking down upon you. But I'm here. I promised, didn't I? _


End file.
